


i don't belong to anyone (but everybody knows my name)

by Myrime



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bodyguard, Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Family, Found Family, Howard Stark Lives, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Humor, M/M, Mentions of drugs, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Didn't Sign Up For This, Tony Is A Disaster Of A Human Being, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, mentions of unsafe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Tony does not want a bodyguard, especially not one that will report his every step back to Howard. Taking a good look at those muscles and the very impressive shoulder-to-waist ratio, though, it could have been worse. Much more promising is the way Tony's very existence seems to offend Steve's sensible morals. They are going to have a lot of fun together.- Or Steve gets hired as Tony's bodyguard, realizes that Tony is a walking disaster incapable of taking care of himself, and takes over his life in less than a day.EDIT: New chapter. Steve brings Tony home. Now, if only Tony would accept something good happening to him for once.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Copycat' by Billie Eilish.

When Tony notices his father’s car in the garage, he decides for the hundredth time that he should pack his things and move somewhere else, Europe perhaps, or at least to the West Coast. His life would be so much easier if Howard stopped meddling.

Stepping into the elevator of the tower, JARVIS speaks up before Tony has a chance to think about whether he could dodge the upcoming lecture by hiding away in R&D.

“You father is waiting for you in your office, sir.” Helpful as ever, JARVIS sets the elevator in motion.

“I thought you were on my side, J,” Tony grumbles, only half-jokingly, but leans back and lets the elevator take him up to his doom. Dealing with Howard never gets easier, after all, if Tony lets him wait.

When he arrives at his floor, he pushes the door to his office open, ready to saunter in and at least pretend that he will not cave to whatever his father will demand of him this time. He will put up a fight, of course he will, but the existence of Stark Industries’ robotic division depends on Tony keeping Howard’s goodwill, and he will not endanger that just for the sake of winning an argument.

His grand entrance is interrupted when he stops abruptly upon seeing that Howard is not alone. A man stands next to him, blond and tall, fitted with muscles that make Tony’s knees go weak for a moment. His posture screams military, however, so this means work, and not the pleasant kind if Howard’s expression is anything to go by.

“Boy,” Howard says, voice as unpleasant as ever. He sounds already fed up with Tony, although they have not seen each other in days. The only thing missing from the picture is a glass of whiskey in Howard’s hand, which he can hurl at his son when he feels like it.

“Father,” Tony greets, keeping his eyes on the stranger, who musters him too, although with a kind of assessing professionalism that promises to get boring rather quickly. So Tony pulls his mouth into a smirk and takes in the stranger’s body from chin to toe, deliberately leaving out his eyes, a leer flashing on his face. The man frowns and stands even straighter, causing Tony’s grin to widen.

He is distantly aware that his father is speaking, but he could not care less. It is probably the same old mixture of disappointment and demands that Tony has become so very good at ignoring. He can zone back in when it is his turn to rattle off all the same old lines.

“Tony.” His father’s loud voice rips him out of his observation. When he looks up, the faintest hint of red is creeping up Howard’s neck. The old man never liked being ignored. “I said this is your new bodyguard.”

Taken aback, Tony ignores the stranger completely for the sake of staring incredulously at his father. Where did that come from? There had been no new scandals over the past weeks, at least none that were worse than the usual trifle. He had not gotten kidnapped, nor instigated a fistfight with that idiot Hammer. Nothing in recent memory warrants this unusual development.

“What?” Tony says eloquently, leaning slightly away from the other two men. He barely manages not to cross his arms in front of him. It does not do to show just how affronted he is. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

He might have needed one as a child, when every small-time criminal thought he was an easy grab and an easier means to get a lot of money, but Howard had not cared back then – other than to ship him off to boarding school, where all the bullies were locked in with him – and Tony is an adult now, fully capable of taking care of himself.

“Sadly I can’t buy you common sense,” Howard sneers, never missing a beat, “so we’ll have to do with someone else keeping you out of trouble.”

The kind of trouble Tony gets in is not in any way different than what Howard has done before him. It is true that the media coverage was not as efficient then as it is now, but Tony knows that he has to make good news every now and then to wipe out the bad. He is not a complete amateur.

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” Tony asks grudgingly, not sparing the newest addition to his staff another glance. Malibu, he thinks suddenly, sounds like a good place to settle down. Most important, it is far enough from New York that he should be able to avoid surprise visits by his parents.

“I haven’t wasted so much time on you only to have you end up in some back alley with your head bashed in because you mouthed off drunk to the wrong people.” Somehow, Howard manages to say that in a tone that makes him sound reasonable, even while it brims with derision.

Unfazed, Tony shrugs. He might mouth off sometimes, but there is always someone around who wants to score points with him. In the love-hate equation, hate usually gets evened out by Tony’s _assets_ , be it the money he throws around carelessly or simply the chance to be with him if only for the night.

“Well,” he drawls, not cowed in the least by Howard’s glare, “you’d know everything about being drunk.”

Howard’s hand twitches and clenches into a fist, giving Tony enough of a warning to dodge if it comes to that. As much as Howard hates being challenged, he is also acutely aware of their audience, so they keep it to almost civilized glares.

Tony can feel the balled disapproval of the stranger at Howard’s side and cannot help the smirk spreading over his face. If the guy has this sensible morals that he cannot even take a tame argument between father and son without radiating his opinion, Tony does not give him longer than a week until he quits. Two days, maybe. Even the people who want something from him usually do not make it longer than that. Well, since Howard seems very determined to have someone shadowing Tony, he can at least have some fun with that.

“Where’s his uniform?” Tony asks, just to be contrary. He might run around in faded band t-shirts and ratty sweats when he is at home, but he still has a certain image to project, so he cannot have someone with him who looks like he has stepped out of some fashion magazine for lumberjacks.

“Uniform?” the guy mouths, looking down at himself like there is nothing wrong with his clothes.

“You can’t expect me to let someone in _plaid_ follow me around,” Tony says dismissively, feeling strangely triumphant when the stranger blushes. “You might have a nice face and that shoulder-to-waist ratio is to die for, but I won’t let you turn me into a laughing stock.”

Tony can pinpoint the exact moment embarrassment turns into anger. Two days might have been an overly optimistic bet. If he spins this right, he will get rid of his new security detail before they even leave his office.

Unfortunately, Howard knows him too well and cuts in before the new guy can do something unadvisable that will get him fired before he has put in a single hour of work. Although Pepper usually argues that a minute with him counts at least as an hour.

“I’ve got a whole list of applicants to go through,” Howard says, already bored with the display, “keep that in mind if you decide to scare this one off.”

Tony is not quite sure what does it, Howard’s dismissive tone, or his own challenging grin, but the guy’s shoulders straighten abruptly as his face adopts the kind of determined expression that Tony will just love to tear down. The ones holding onto their sense of duty are always the most fun to corrupt. Many people have thought they could stand him and they have all given up sooner rather than later. It has become a sport, of sorts, because the alternative would be to give in to the hollowness that getting left behind again and again causes inside him.

Keeping his face amused, Tony shakes his head. “Well, come on then, muscle man,” he quips, ready to be done with this. He turns around without gracing Howard with another glance. This is just another ploy. Hiring security as if he is suddenly concerned with Tony’s safety has to be just another way to control him. What would be better to keep him informed about everything Tony does, than to hire someone who will have to follow him everywhere?

“My name is Steve,” the new guy says with some indignation as he falls into step next to Tony.

In turn, Tony merely clicks his tongue. “I know,” he lies, having completely missed Howard’s introductory speech. It is not as if he could remember the names of all the dozens of people rushing in and out of his life on a daily basis. “Let’s not dawdle.”

 

* * *

 

The whole reason Tony has even come to the tower is that he woke up brimming with energy that can only be burned by building things. Contrary to public opinion, Tony _loves_ his work. The parties and alcohol and constant stream of people he takes to bed are only substitutes for when he is too wired or too exhausted to be productive. He is familiar with safety protocols, and he does not handle dangerous substances and tools when he cannot keep his hands steady. At least he does not do it too often – or not often enough to do lasting damage to himself. Yet.

Humming under his breath, Tony leads his unwanted bodyguard back to the elevator, and promptly pulls out his phone to discourage him from speaking. The blonde seems ready to talk shop, has likely already a schedule prepared, or has explicit orders from Howard, but Tony is not interested in any of that.

“Pepper,” he cries happily when his favourite PA picks up. She is another reason he still comes to work at the tower instead of upgrading his workshop at home and never coming out again. Even despite his increasingly ridiculous offers of compensations, she refuses to move in with him.

Not bothering with a greeting, Pepper asks, “Who’s the guy your father came in with?”

Tony cringes. Sometimes he cannot comprehend how quickly news spread through this building, even though he is used to the machinations of the press. He understands that Pepper tries to stay on top of things, though. She usually has to do damage control for him, so it would be thoroughly unfair to keep her out of the loop.

“New security,” he says, dismissive enough to see Steve’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. Tony wonders why he even signed up for the job, considering that it is well known how difficult Tony can be. He must be either very desperate or overly confident in his own abilities.

“That means you can’t sleep with him,” Pepper retorts immediately, likely already pulling out the paperwork for dealing with sexual harassment claims and workplace fraternization.

Chuckling, Tony thinks he could kiss her if that would not result in several unsolvable problems like him being left to deal with his own messes again since Pepper has made it very clear that she will not tolerate his shenanigans.

“It’s not like he will stay that long,” he says, savouring the exquisite frown this elicits from Steve. How very responsive he is. This is going to be so very amusing.

“It’s not like you need any time at all to turn a situation into a catastrophe,” Pepper counters, copying his exact tone, although he hears some fondness lying underneath. He has stopped doubting that her affection is genuine, because she is not the kind of woman who would suffer his character just for the sake of a pay cheque.

“You wound me,” he laughs, clutching his chest for Steve’s benefit.

“You’ll heal.” Pepper’s sarcasm sounds like home. Then, sadly, she becomes all professional again. “Now, was there something else you wanted, other than to make the new guy uncomfortable?”

Pepper knows him too well, knows he cannot abide by other people’s rules. While she does not approve of his way of dealing with things even a quarter of the time, Tony knows she will stick to his side.

“I need you to look into available houses in Malibu.”

“Are we moving?” The easy way with which she uses _we_ settles into Tony’s heart, makes him feel that there are people in this world he can trust.

“I’m thinking about it,” he says and she understands that he means this would keep Howard from interfering so much, which, in turn, would help to tame Tony’s stronger urges to cause scenes just to upset his old man. Just like that, everybody wins.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says in a tone that tells him she truly will, no matter that this is just a crazy idea that popped into his head because he wants to avoid his father. “Want to meet for lunch?”

“Probably not.”

Tony’s fingers itch to get to work. That means he will not emerge from his workshop for hours, not until his inherent hunger to create is satiated. Pepper will not hold that against him. Again, this is something she knows too well.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” she asks, and Tony knows his smile is mirrored on her face.

“That will be all, Ms. Potts.”

When they arrive at their destination, Tony glances quickly at his new companion. The kind thing would be to send him away for the day, but the blonde still has that air of determination around him that tells Tony he will not go anywhere. His loss.

“I’m going to work now,” Tony announces cheerfully, deciding to forego a comment at the sceptically raised eyebrows that meet his statement. He just knows he will have a lot of fun with this one.

Not waiting for an answer, he turns around and saunters into his sanctuary, hiding his mischievous grin. The look Steve throws him when Tony closes the door in his face is hilarious. He will need to check the security feed, hoping the camera got it from a good angle, because he feels like he can laugh at this for a good long time to come.

“JARVIS,” Tony prompts, and watches Steve’s growing surprise with satisfaction as the glass walls of his workshop turn opaque, not dark enough to block the view entirely, but enough to obscure the details of what is happening inside.

Cackling to himself, Tony walks over to one of the workstations. His good mood does not get dampened when his phone starts ringing before he even makes it there, although he is slightly annoyed that Howard would simply give out his phone number to a guy he cannot reasonably expect to stay on for very long.

“Yes, darling?” he asks, glancing at the door where Steve is pressed against the glass, no doubt glaring at him. Thankfully, the walls are reinforced to withstand worse things than death glares or Tony would not have made it a week working here.

“Open the door, Stark,” Steve growls, sounding delectably upset.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Tony feints surprise at the question, even while he wonders whether Howard really thinks it is necessary to get reports about what Tony is doing in his lab in Stark Tower. Everything that is done in here can be found in the lab reports, which Tony does not bother to make disappear, because he deals with his personal projects at home to keep the chances of interference low. There is no other reason, though, why Steve would insist on coming in. Usually, people prefer to stay outside, safely out of reach of Tony’s manic energy.

“How am I supposed to protect you if you lock me out?” The thing is, Steve sounds like he is genuinely interested in doing this job. He is already fed up with Tony’s attitude, yes, there is no hiding that, but his urging is still honest, like he really thinks he has to constantly hover at Tony’s back.

Amused despite himself, Tony clicks his tongue. “You’re supposed to keep me safe from the big bad world outside, so be a dear and stay right where you are and keep the danger from coming to me.”

Tony imagines that Steve’s scowl could be useful to chase off even the more persistent reporters and gold diggers, and his muscles are a warning of their own. If Tony needed a bodyguard, he might not be too cross with getting Steve.

“That’s not what your father –”

But there it is, the catch, the rot beneath the shiny surface. Howard’s unending meddling. While Steve’s eagerness might be endearing and promises to be fun, he is still here to do Howard’s bidding.

“My father wants to make sure he can keep using my brain.” Tony cannot help the sharpness of the words. Tony is tired of being controlled, and the sooner all involved parties understand that the better. He is willing to work for Howard as long as he is left to do what he wants with his free time. “There is nothing in here that’s a danger to me.”

Well, except maybe for DUM-E, who is a menace with fire extinguishers and substances that are not safe for human consumption, and possibly himself, but Tony is smart enough not to say that out loud.

Wanting this discussion to be over, he adds flippantly, “And having your lovely face in here would only distract me from my work, and no one wants that.” His voice is sickly sweet, and he grins inwardly as he watches Steve’s face go tight on the security feed showing the outside of his workshop. If he reacts that promptly to even light teasing, Tony will have to experiment with that. “So do your part and brood next to the door like the good guard dog you’re supposed to be.”

Tony ends the call without waiting for an answer. He watches Steve seethe for a minute longer, just to see whether he will immediately call to tattle to Howard. When Steve settles in, however, back against the glass wall and his eyes directed pointedly away from Tony, even with the opaque wall between them, Tony thinks they will be fine and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, Tony stumbles out of his workshop, brimming with the kind of energy that comes from having a mind that never stops racing, even while his body is balancing on the edge of collapse. The more exhausted he gets, the more manic his thoughts become. He has had some of his most brilliant ideas while being in a state that normal people would not be able to even stand up in. It has always been his opinion that ingenuity and safety are mutually exclusive. How would a mind that is not challenged ever come up with something brilliant?

He feels restless, knows he should go home and tinker with something until he has calmed enough that he can sleep, but then his eyes falls on Steve, still standing next to the door with his back straight and a glare he might not have let drop for all the time Tony was gone.

“Done already?” Steve asks. His attempt at sarcasm is heavily dampened by the genuine bafflement in his tone.

Like everyone else, he surely did not think that Tony – the famous playboy and disaster of a human being – would be able to concentrate on something like actual work for such a length of time. Steve does not know what he has gotten up to in there, naturally, but even hiding away just to be petty should have become too boring after the first hour or two. On top of that, Tony knows he looks like he has worked. He never managed to keep the grease off his clothes and out of his hair, too used to gesticulating wildly while he talks theory with either JARVIS or himself. In his opinion, being passionate about something means to be ready to get dirty doing it.

Tony does not do anything to either confirm or dispute Steve’s changing opinion of him, because he has poured a lot of effort into establishing the publicly perceived amorality of his character. With him being a weapons manufacturer, people will always look for character flaws, so he decided that it is better to give them something loud and drunk than to have them dig deeper. Also, he _likes_ parties, likes the way everyone does their best to become someone else just for the night.

Since there is no way he could go to sleep now, Tony decides to test the limits of Steve’s patience by upping his game. He claps his hands, does not stop the manic grin from overtaking his lips, and shakes his head cheerfully.

“The night has only just begun,” he says, making it sound like a promise, and pointedly avoids looking at his watch to check whether it even is already – or still – night. Then again, it barely matters because there is always a party happening somewhere in New York.

Briefly, Tony wonders whether he should inquire about Steve’s working hours. Regarding the horribly stubborn expression, and that the blonde is still wearing the horrible plaid from earlier, it is likely that he has been actually staying outside the workshop the whole time Tony was busy. But he does not really care for the well-being of any of Howard’s henchmen, he just wants to get rid of him as soon as possible, so Tony grins wider and walks off in the direction of the elevator, leaving Steve to stumble after him.

“Wait, you want to go out right now?” That tips the scale from positively surprised back to annoyed very quickly.

Tony can see the protest building up, ready to be pushed out between teeth that are clenched in exasperation. He has heard lectures about how to take care of himself far too often to not recognize the signs of one coming on. Curiously enough, though, Steve merely squares his jaw and does not say anything more. He must have been extensively briefed, and has more patience than most people to actually stick to the rule of not telling Tony what he should do.

“I’ll obviously have to clean myself up first,” Tony says, being deliberately oblivious to what Steve means. He almost regrets looking at his new shadow, wanting to duck under the glower that hits him. “Don’t look like that. A drink or two will do you a world of good.”

Steve snorts derisively. “I don’t drink on the job,” he refuses with quite a bit of indignation, which fills Tony with the kind of unholy glee that his friends know to take as a sign that they should run as quickly as possible.

“Then it’ll be a horribly boring and long night for you.” Tony decides then that he will just have to be as horrible as he can to make Steve eat those words. Everyone needs a drink within minutes of meeting him. “Maybe we can get you laid, at least.” Looking Steve over once again, he adds contemplatively, “Shouldn’t be too hard. Although you should probably get rid of that shirt.”

“Stark,” Steve growls in warning, the slightest hint of red creeping up his cheeks.

“No sex either. Hell, we’re not going to get along at all.” Tony sighs exaggeratedly, then raises a finger at Steve. “I swear, if you scare everyone away from me so I can’t get laid either, we’re going to have a problem.”

“You think so?” Steve says dryly, although his right hand twitches as if he wants nothing more than to start a fight already.

Tony, in turn, opens his arms, makes himself a bigger target, and grins like a shark. “Well, since you’re getting paid for keeping me safe,” he drawls unpleasantly, “I think Howard will not be too happy if you throw the first – or any – punch. He might not like me very much, but he’s rather prickly about wasting money.”

Steve visibly swallows down his response, but makes a show of relaxing his impressing muscles. He does not succeed in making himself appear any smaller, but the distinctly threatening air dissipates.

“Good talk,” Tony cannot help but add, and pats Steve’s shoulder in a patronizing gesture. “And to cut off our next argument, I’m going to drive. You’ll need to have your hands free if someone starts shooting at us.”

 

* * *

 

Tony can tell that Steve is surprised by his home. He let Pepper do the decorating, which means it is expensive, but it is small and homely as well. Officially, the penthouse in the tower is his, but he does not like to sleep there, too close to his father’s greedy hands and watchful eyes. This flat, however, - one bedroom and a combined kitchen-living room, scattered artfully with technical journals and machine parts – is just for himself. Few people know that he has bought the story beneath his and turned it into another workshop. Howard had grumbled about the expense, but shut up quickly when Tony reminded him how much more work he could get done without having to travel to his lab in the tower.

He does not exactly like that he has to take Steve upstairs, but he guesses he owes the guy a shower after making him wait for hours on end outside his workshop. Tony might excel at being an arsehole, but he is not cruel. He goes to the bathroom first but then waits patiently in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, while Steve gets ready himself. He is not surprised when the blonde declines to change into something other than that horrible shirt.

“You sure you don’t want to go to bed?” Steve asks when they turn to the door, causing Tony to scoff. He clearly hears the _this is a bad idea_ filling Steve’s voice, but there has never been a bad idea Tony has not jumped at without hesitation. He walks out without comment.

To enact his revenge, and to see how stuck up Steve really is, Tony takes them to a gay club. It is loud and full of the kind of cheerful energy that goes right beneath his skin, echoing inside his ears right alongside his heartbeat. Tony can feel the tension drain out of his very essence. In here, it does not matter that his father is scheming behind his back again, or that there are a dozen unfinished projects Tony should be working on. Even with his unwilling bodyguard in his back, he can let go.

They are barely through the door when the first drink is pushed into Tony’s hands, and he drinks it, laughing, tells them to keep it coming. He is known here, or everywhere, he _shines_ wherever he goes. When it is dark outside he does not want to think about the monsters under every bed he has ever slept in. He forgets about Howard and the company he will someday be responsible for.

Despite having quite the tolerance, the alcohol goes right to Tony’s head, thanks to him not having eaten anything the whole day. Combined with the aftershocks of his unhealthy coffee consumption, Tony is brimming right down to his core, letting the music sway him this way and that, fluttering through the club from face to face, drink to drink, song to song.

Throughout all of it, Steve is a constant at his side, ever watchful but not scowling so much anymore. He does not even protest as wholeheartedly as Tony would have expected when he wants to pull him onto the dancefloor, his senses momentarily overtaken by the display of muscles and the intensity of the blue eyes. So what if Steve is Howard’s underling? He is not going to find out anything new about Tony here. Everyone knows he is the life of every party right until he crashes.

When there is a familiar kind of heat building up inside him, Tony ditches Steve far too easily by pushing a clingy, very drunk brunette at him, while he goes looking for someone to work this particular kind of restlessness out of him with. Purely to irritate his new bodyguard, he chooses a tall blonde, and it does not matter that he already has someone else on his arm. All three of them look at each other in understanding and move as one towards the back of the club where a bouncer ushers them towards one of the private rooms without so much as a frown when Tony waves a bill at his face, not caring for the number depicted on it.

His eyes meet Steve’s right before they vanish from view and he cannot help the laughter bursting out of him at the pure fury his bodyguard directs at him. Incidentally, closing doors into Steve’s face might just become his new favourite hobby. He is almost sad it will not last for very long.

Things start to blur into each other after this, as it happens during these nights. When Tony does not have a drink in hand, his lips meet someone’s skin. When he is not dancing, he is holding someone close. Sometimes the liquids burn too much and sometimes hands grope too hard, but Tony is grinning through all of it, convinced that this is what life feels like. He is so desperate to live.

He loses sight of Steve at some point, although he has the kind of presence Tony can feel even with a whole room between them, so it is almost a relief when Steve finally finds his way back to him and turns him around until they are face to face, close enough to block out the rest of the club.

For a moment, he thinks Steve will kiss him, but his lips pull down in the kind of disgusted expression Tony knows too well and that has him wishing for another drink, but his glass his empty and he cannot concentrate enough to ask for another.

“That’s it,” Steve hisses, which is only audible because he leans down and speaks directly into Tony’s ear, so that the only thing Tony is aware of anymore is Steve’s breath on his skin. “We’re going.”

“Why?” Tony asks sweetly, once he remembers there is a whole human attached to the lips he has been staring at right now. “Scene not to your taste?”

“I’m doing my job.” Steve closes his eyes briefly, likely reminding himself that he can quit as soon as he has brought Tony back home. He would be considerate enough to not just leave Tony here. “And I’m not letting you give anyone else a tour of the backrooms.”

“It’s so nice of you to care,” Tony drawls and tries to push Steve off him, but the movement nearly makes him lose his balance, so he grips that ridiculous shirt instead, to keep himself upright. “But I doubt anyone here is good enough to get me killed by orgasm.”

It is not hard to see that Steve wants nothing more than to march out of that door and never look back. Instead, he makes sure to steady Tony, muttering under his breath, “You’re a danger to yourself.”

Tony cannot help himself and laughs. It is too loud around them, and he is too drunk on the atmosphere in the club and the alcohol running through his veins. He cannot stop thinking about how hilarious it is that Howard sent him a boy scout as a bodyguard. It is a shame they usually run so fast, it would have been fun to break him, maybe lure out his dark side.

“Yes,” he grins, utterly unrepentant, “didn’t you read the fine print? Or any tabloid ever?”

Shaking his head, Steve straightens his back, bringing way too much distance between them, and says something too low for Tony to hear, although he does not need much imagination to know it is a curse – or whatever golden boys like him use instead of swear words.

By now, Tony is filled with the sweet kind of ache that leaves him numb to the crueller turns his mind likes to take when he does not occupy it with work, so he does not protest when Steve pushes him towards the exit. Alcohol and sex – and whatever those little pills had been – usually do the trick. Even if it is not enough to enable him to sleep, his hands might just be steady enough again for him to keep tinkering.

Steve leads him like a gentleman to where they have parked the car and proceeds to fish the keys out of Tony’s pockets with rather deft fingers, not a hint of shyness about him.

Tony sees their reflection in the car window. He is unapologetically ruffled, shirt buttoned wrong, hair sticking up daringly, hickeys lining his neck. He has always pulled off looking debauched really well. Next to him, Steve makes for an almost forbidding figure, arm stretched out as if to guide or catch Tony but never making actual contact. He thinks that is a shame, because they make a nice pair, contrasts complimenting each other.

When he turns to Steve to tell him this, though, he gets pushed more or less roughly into the car. After that, he only notices lights rushing past, thinking that Steve drives faster than he would have thought, before he drifts off, trusting he will wake up again somewhere. He usually does.

 

* * *

 

The next morning – or afternoon, but who is counting? – Tony wakes up in his own bed. He is still wearing his trousers and undershirt, but his shoes and jacket are off, which is confusing him as to whether he went to bed alone, especially since he cannot even remember getting here. He is used to waking up with a hangover, greets the pounding headache like an old friend, and closes his eyes quickly again when the light filters in painfully.

Before he moves, he makes a silent damage assessment. He is sore all over, mostly the good kind for once, and he feels only a few, innocent bruises line his skin. His stomach is churning, mostly undecided on whether he needs to throw up or eat something. It has been a while since he had any food, if he remembers correctly. Pepper bullied him into eating brunch with her a couple days back, or something like that.

When he finally braves the brightness of the day, he notices the first disruption of his routine. There is a full water glass on his nightstand, and a pair of Advil within grabbing distance. This requires more forethought than he is usually capable of when he comes home drunk. He sits up, groaning, because he will not be able to much thinking if he does not take those Advil. Halfway up he stops short, though, because he is met by a glare out of cool blue eyes.

 _Steve_ , his mind supplies helpfully, followed by confusion as to what he is still doing here, since he would have thought the blonde would have already fled. Belated, he thinks it is even stranger that Steve is in his bedroom of all places, fully clothed at that. He sits in an armchair – which definitely had not been in here the day before – next to his bed, looking tired but unreasonably alert. To top that, he is _still_ wearing the same horrible clothes, completing the look by newly acquired stubble on his skin.

“Steve.” Tony’s voice is hoarse, the name scratching like sandpaper inside his throat.

The blonde barely reacts other than raising his eyebrows in what could be scepticism or a challenge. Tony decides he is not ready for either, and reaches out for the pills. Due to the clumsiness that comes from waking up with a hangover, he only succeeds in almost knocking the water glass over if not for Steve’s quick reflexes. Looking decidedly more disapproving now, he pushes the glass into Tony’s hand, stopping just short of guiding it directly to his mouth.

Drowning the water to the last drop, Tony takes his time to try to gather some of the dignity he must have left somewhere before he looks back up at his soon-to-be-ex-bodyguard.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Doing my job,” Steve answers through clenched teeth. That truly seems to be the only answer he is capable of whenever Tony questions his behaviour. He would like the look at that contract sometime, because Steve must be truly desperate for money if he signed something that effectively made him Tony’s glorified babysitter. Not that he needs someone to hold his hand. Howard had always told him that, if he wants to drink like a man, he has to suffer the consequences too. As if there is any other way.

“I know I’m desirable, but my security system is actually good enough to keep people from storming my bedroom.” Tony knows he will survive the hangover when the sarcasm rolls naturally off his lips. Although that is his go-to response even when he feels like he is dying, simply to get everyone off his back.

Steve, in turn, shows himself unimpressed. “I was more worried about you choking on your own vomit.” Something in his dry tone reminds Tony of Pepper, who is so used to reprimanding him that she barely ever talks to him any other way anymore.

“Aw, you do care,” Tony drawls, feeling quite out of his depth. Rhodey might have stayed all night at his bedside out of worry, but that is only because he knows that, beneath all the bluster, Tony is still the desperate kid he had to save from himself at MIT.

Steve does not have such a reason, has no reason at all to pull Tony out of a club and bring him home and sit at his bedside despite not having slept the whole day himself because no one informed him of the insane hours Tony keeps. It does not make sense, and Tony does not like it when he cannot make sense of things.

“Some people aren’t born millionaires,” Steve answers, and finally there is something like real derision in his voice, “but need to work for their money.”

Almost sighing in relief – because Tony speaks few languages as well as the one of money – he sits up straighter in bed and lets his lips curls into a smirk. “You certainly earned yourself a break, so shoo,” he says, wondering where Howard even found this guy, and how much he has promised him to inspire this sense of duty.

“Unless you’re planning on staying in this bed until tomorrow morning,” Steve counters, leaning back in the armchair as if to get comfortable again, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mouth threatening to fall open, it is all Tony can do not to gape. He is generally bad at calculating how long he has been awake or how long it has been since his last meal, but he knows for a fact that Steve has not slept outside of his workshop while Tony has been working – he has been checking the security feed to have his evidence in case he needs to get rid of his bodyguard quickly – and spending the night here cannot have been very restful either if he was actually afraid of Tony dying in his sleep. Which means that Steve has been up for a long time, and he does not look like the kind of person who is used to that, other than Tony himself.

“You take this far too seriously.” Tony refuses to feel bad for that, however, because it has not been his idea to hire Steve, nor did he expect him to stick to the rules. No one does.

“Someone has to.” Steve rolls his eyes. Strangely enough, it does not seem out of character, despite him having given the best impression of being professional bordering on uptight. “And since you don’t seem to care about your own safety at all –”

“Let me stop you right there, princess,” Tony cuts in harshly. There are too many people in his life already who try to tell him what to do, he does not need to add a nosey stranger to that list. “I’ve been living my life for over two decades now and I haven’t gotten myself killed yet.”

It had been close several times and not all of those had been accidental, but he does not talk about that.

“Certainly not for lack of trying,” Steve mutters, sticking out his chin. For some reason, it seems like there is more distance between them than just a minute before, even though neither of them has moved.

“Listen,” Tony says, trying for a calm tone. He rubs his eyelids, wishing the Advil would kick in. In this annoying state between drunk and sober, he is worse at communicating than usual. “I don’t know why Howard thinks I need a babysitter all of a sudden, because we have a deal that I can do what I want as long as I meet the deadlines for my projects.” A little bit desperate, he adds, “And I do.”

That has been a point of endless arguing when Tony was still at MIT, spreading his wings for the first time, learning more than ever before, and struggling to deal with his newfound freedom, his hundreds of ideas, and his duties to Stark Industries all at once. He has gotten better now and seldom does not do his part if it is not on purpose. Howard’s interference, therefore, must have less to do with the work Tony does, and more with how he spends his time otherwise.

“I don’t know what Howard told you about what you’re signing up for,” he continues, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone, “but I can assure that it has nothing to do with my safety. He’s asked you to report to him, yes? Well, you can tell him that I won’t blab about SI secrets to anyone.”

Steve does not even have the decency to look ashamed at being accused of essentially spying for Howard. He probably thinks the old man is right about it, too. “The way you’re going at it,” he says with quite a bit of contempt, “you’ll manage neither that nor will you live a long life.”

Feeling a bit like a reprimanded child, Tony huffs. “I can keep my mouth shut.”

They must make for a ridiculous picture, Tony sitting in his bed with half his attire from the evening before, still looking rather ruffled, while Steve lounges next to him, radiating his disapproval to the heavens, both of them glaring at each other without the slightest intention to give in.

“How many people were you _entertaining_ last night?” Steve asks, almost managing a sneer before he remembers himself and waves quickly to cut Tony’s answer off. “No, I don’t want to know, I stopped counting for a reason.” There might be a slight blush gracing his cheeks, but before Tony can look any closer, Steve’s expression hardens and there is nothing bashful about it anymore. “You let strangers buy you drinks and knocked them back without caring for what was even in them, or if someone might have put something more sinister into them without your knowledge. Not to speak of those bloody pills you took _willingly_. What the hell, Stark?” Steve’s jaw clenches as he leans forward, gaze bearing painfully intense into Tony. “Drugs, really?”

In that moment, it feels like both Pepper and Rhodey are staring at him through Steve’s blue eyes. This is a conversation he might have with them instead of a stranger, and still he cannot find any dishonesty in Steve’s words. Disgust, yes, but the kind of detached disapproval that comes from watching someone crash and burn that one does not care for.

Tony cannot make sense of Steve Rogers, who is already proving to be a real pain, but in a way that Tony cannot simply resent him for and be done with it. Neither can he slip out of his skin, so he leans back in his bed like he does not have a care in the world, and smirks.

“Howard really didn’t brief you,” he says like none of this is new, like Steve’s surprise is what is wrong with this situation, not Tony’s self-destructive behaviour. In a way it is, because Tony has been doing this for so long, he can barely remember that he has ever lived differently than stumbling from his workshop to some bar and back, constantly filling his mind with other people’s voices when he is not pouring it out into tech. There are worse ways to live, he thinks somewhat petulantly, he could create nothing at all in between his attempts to make himself feel something.

Steve stares at him intently for a long minute, searching for something but giving no indication as to whether he has found it before he huffs. “Mr. Stark said you were difficult,” he says in a tone that is hard to read, “but this goes beyond rich brat craziness into outright insanity.”

Tony has been called insane before, but that was mostly because of what his mind can do if he lets it run freely, working with a manic grin on his face, never standing still. That kind of insanity fits him much better than whatever Steve is hinting at, although he would not actually argue that he might house both kinds inside his chest.

“Listen, princess –” he starts, wanting to get this over with so he can hide away with his machines until his head has stopped pounding and he can begin the whole cycle anew, but Steve cuts him off unapologetically.

“My name is Steve.”

The day before Tony might have needed the reminder, but Steve is burned into his memory now without fault, which does not mean that he cannot be difficult about it.

“What does it matter, _Steve_?” he drawls, distinctly thinking that this name is meant to be caressed, not sneered. “I promise you I won’t actively try to kill myself during the time you’ll need to get to Howard’s office to sign the resignation form.” Tony smiles an ugly, dismissive smile, which is directed more at himself than Steve, and adds, “Then I’ll be someone else’s problem. Preferably my own again.”

Tony is good at creating problems for people. Up until now, however, he has always made up for that by creating solutions for other things. Usefulness, he knows, is the key here. As soon as he stops being that, he has no illusions that everyone will drop him as quickly as they can.

“I’m not quitting,” Steve says, or at least that is what Tony thinks he hears, although that makes even less sense than everything else that has happened this past day.

“You – what?” he asks stupidly, pulling his legs close to his chest in what he tries to pretend is not a defensive gesture by leaning back casually against the headrest.

Human interaction has never been something he particularly liked, mostly because it is so unpredictable. Sometimes it seems that everything can be measured and put in equations but that. With a brain that translates everything into numbers, it is not actually a surprise that Tony has his difficulties with this.

“I said I’m not quitting,” Steve repeats, throwing Tony with the vehemence of his words. At some point, which Tony has completely missed, Steve’s disapproval has been joined by the kind of determination that promises to make both their lives hell. “You clearly need someone to watch your back.”

Despite himself, Tony laughs, not quite amused. “And you want that someone to be you?” He is reminded of the way Rhodey used to stare him into submission, back before he knew he could trust him, and wonders whether he seems that helpless to Steve, that much in need of saving, or whether Howard is simply paying that well. It is likely the latter.

A small smile appears on Steve’s lips that looks somewhat self-deprecating, although Tony cannot explain why. If anything, Steve seemed to be too good of a person up until now. “Not particularly,” he says dryly. He does not give the disappointment a chance to spread through Tony’s chest, however, before he continues, “But I doubt anyone else will stay even as long as I did if I leave now.”

Bitterness settles around Tony’s shoulder like an old friend. “You don’t owe us anything,” he says, because he cannot bring himself to throw Steve out like he probably should.

“Thankfully not,” Steve breathes, privately amused. “But I guess, at the end of this, you’ll owe me a lot.”

Where alarm bells should go off in Tony’s head, he simply feels annoyed. This is how it always start, people believing he owes them something, if only because he has more than them or can think up anything if given the right incentive. Despite the behaviour he sometimes adopts when he is out in clubs, he is not actually for sale, no matter who is asking.

“You say that as if I have agreed to any of this,” Tony says, unable to help sounding miffed. He hates when he misinterprets the way people look at him, mistakes interest for investment in future favours. One might think he would someday get to the point where he can make the distinction, but Tony is pretty sure even Rhodey has given up on him by now.

Suddenly all business-like, Steve leans forwards in his seat. “We’ll need to set some ground rules first.” While Tony is left feeling like he has somehow missed them slipping into an alternate dimension where any of this makes sense, Steve raises his hand to count his rules off his fingers.

“Most important, no drugs.” Neither Steve’s tone nor face brook any argument about this.  “I don’t care whether you’re bored or sad or all your friends are doing it, that’s a hole you won’t climb out easily anymore.”

Tony winces slightly but keeps his expression straight. He could argue that he does not do drugs, not really. His sense of self-preservation is not very developed and when he is in the wrong kind of mood he eats and drinks everything people put into his hands, but there are some abysses even he will not jump into headfirst. He has a brain to preserve, after all, his one valuable asset. So he nods, grudgingly, even though Steve does not actually seem to expect him to agree.

“Second, your drinking habits.” Steve shrugs, showing a hint of discomfort. “I won’t tell you that you should cut that down, but if I say you’re done, you’re done.”

Dazedly, Tony nods. He has an agreement like that with Rhodey. It is not perfect, and Tony has enough secret liquor stashes to keep going whenever he wants, but it seems to calm his friend, so he does not argue too much about it.

“And don’t accept anything you didn’t see the barkeeper pour yourself.”

Tony cannot help the bitter snort that escapes him. “You’re in over your head if you’re trying to teach a Stark proper drinking behaviour. All I do I learned from dear old Dad.”

For a moment, it seems like Steve is going to let himself be distracted and ask some pointed questions about that, but then he remembers his determination to pull this through and raises another finger.

“Third, I won’t let you park me outside your workshop whenever you feel like working for once.” He sounds rather sceptical that Tony’s endless hours the day before have been a normal event rather than a skewed sort of lesson for the new bodyguard. With some effort, Tony manages to keep from laughing. Steve will have a hard time getting used to his working binges if he thinks like that. “We need to establish a system that tells me when you’re leaving. If you’re not inclined to call me yourself, that is.”

Tony is bad at following schedules, but it would not be hard to have JARVIS informing Steve of whenever he is needed. Inwardly, he shakes his head at himself. When did he make the shift from trying to get this newest addition to his staff to leave as quickly as possible to making his job easier?

“What, are you already giving up on trying to get in?” Tony asks, tone not as nasty as it could be, since he does not feel as threatened by Steve as he probably should.

“I wasn’t hired for corporate espionage,” Steve answers with a small grin. “Also you got out covered in engine oil in places that make me think I’m better off not knowing what you’re getting up to in there.”

There is a kind of dry humour to his voice that Tony has not noticed before, and that appeals to him as much as the sudden bossiness he exudes.  People usually hate him outright or try to suck up to him because of his money. Steve somehow manages to ignore both his name and his monetary worth, and treats him like an actual human being.

“Don’t sound so certain about that. There’s magic happening in there.” Tony does not even try to keep the pride out of his voice. The workshop is, after all, the place where he feels safest at, holed up with JARVIS and his bots, ready to give birth to any idea he might come up with.

“Maybe you’ll show me sometime,” Steve says softly, looking at him searchingly. In a more teasing tone, he adds, “Once I’m sure that’s not a ploy to get rid of me quietly.”

For some inexplicable reason, Tony finds that he _wants_ to take Steve into his workshop. Not immediately, not before he is not at least somewhat sure that this decision will not come back to haunt him. He cannot even begin to explain why. Then again, neither can he name a reason for why he is still sitting up in his bed listening to Steve make up rules for them.

“While we’re at it,” Tony says, masking his reluctance with what he hopes is a forbidding frown, “I have a rule of my own.”

Nodding at Tony, Steve waits patiently for him to continue.

“Howard.” Tony swallows, wondering why even the name leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. He should be used to dealing with his father by now. “I don’t know what your deal with him is –” He shrugs uncomfortably, unsure how to put his thoughts into words.

“He doesn’t expect regular reports from me, if that’s what you mean.” Somehow, Steve manages to make that sound like it is nothing out of the ordinary, as if all fathers would hire people to spy on their children. “He said he’d like me to tell him if you were to do something _incredibly stupid_ ,” Steve manages to produce a fairly good replica of Howard’s sneer, “but other than that I’m really just supposed to be your security.”

While Tony is not convinced that his father truly had no second thoughts, he accepts that Steve seems to think so. That has to be good enough for now.

“I won’t tell him anything you don’t want him to know,” Steve adds, looking like he thinks Tony needs the reassurance – which he might be right about.

Tony does not thank him, but lets his gratefulness shine through the smile he gives Steve. They have no reason to trust each other, but Tony is not known for shirking any risks, no matter how often it has left him heartbroken before.

“All right, that’s it for now,” Steve says, sounding way too energetic for how he looks, considering he has not had much sleep for the past two days. He does not let that deter him, however, when he gestures at Tony. “I suggest you go and take a shower, while I’ll see what I can put together for breakfast, or rather a very late lunch.”

Smiling rather smugly to himself, Steve gets to his feet and saunters out of the room as if he does not have a care in the world. More so, as if he has not just left Tony Stark speechless in his bed, overwhelmed with how completely he has lost control of this situation – and how little he actually minds. Something about Steve is incredibly soothing, which does not mean that they are not going to murder each other before the first week of this strange thing they are trying is over, but Tony thinks he might not actually resent the idea as much as he possibly should.

He remains motionless for several long minutes, until he hears clanging from the kitchen, which is the clearest indication that Steve was earnest about his offer to prepare a meal for them. More importantly, the smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the room. Since there is nothing more effective in binding Tony to someone else’s will than offering him coffee, he is out of the bed and in the shower before he even realizes he is moving. The warm water clears some of the fog from his mind. It does not make it any easier to understand what just happened, but Tony thinks he does not necessarily have to understand it to give it a go. He could never explain Pepper and Rhodey either, so maybe Steve will turn out to be a good thing too.


	2. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, Steve,” Bucky says easily, rolling his eyes. “You can bring him here and try to fix him. That’s what you do and we love you for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I did manage to write how Steve brought Tony home.  
> Hope you like that addition.  
> Thank you for your kudos and comments!

As good friends do, Bucky waits for Steve when he comes home, takes one look at his dishevelled state and gets up to put the kettle on. Steve does not even have to say anything for Bucky to reach for tea instead of coffee, and is momentarily relieved that he is back in the normal world, where people battle exhaustion with sleep instead of an increasing intake of caffeine.

“I’m home,” Steve says rather unnecessarily, but he needs to hear it, needs to convince himself that there will not be another catastrophe waiting to happen emerge from nowhere that he will have to deal with.

“Well,” Bucky asks, as soon as Steve has settled into a chair with a steaming mug in front of him. “How was it?”

The question almost makes Steve laugh, but he is not sure he will be able to stop once he starts, hysteria mixing in, until it is all he can do not to cry.

“I never thought it’d be possible to meet someone who is more of a disaster than all of us put together.”

When Natasha came to him saying she recommended him for a job, he had thought she was exaggerating when she wished him good luck. Everyone has heard of Tony Stark, brilliant mind and degenerate partygoer. Bucky had sat him down to read the latest array of news articles, so he would have an idea what he was getting himself into. Nothing could have prepared him for the disaster Tony truly is, however.

Tony is going through his life with sheer recklessness, wasting not a second on sleep as if that is for lesser people, needing to be always the loudest and brightest, not caring whether he falls and burns as long as someone still cheers him on – even if that someone is just himself anymore.

What Tony needs is not a bodyguard but a time machine, so that someone can give him a proper childhood and teach him that he is worth being taken care of too. Lacking that, Steve thinks it might be up to him.

“Don’t you dare, Rogers,” Bucky growls, likely seeing the determination that is building inside of Steve. As his oldest friend, Bucky has suffered through countless of Steve’s _brilliant_ ideas.

“What?” Innocence has never suited Steve, which does not stop him from trying to pull it off. At least his disappointed face usually gets him what he wants anyway.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, expression grim, before he groans and crosses his arms in front of him, showing his resistance despite knowing the futility of it.

“We’ll need another couch if you keep adopting strays,” Bucky says, sounding rather resigned to the fact that Steve has found himself another project. “We barely fit on there anymore already and that’s despite how bloody flexible Clint is.”

It is said jokingly, but Steve knows that Bucky is on board then, just like he was when he brought Wanda and Pietro in from the shelter where he volunteers to help them get back on their feet, or when Scott started to come to their training sessions because he needed distraction from arguing with his ex-wife over how often his daughter can visit him.

Their core group still fits easily into the living room, and it is not so often that everyone is meeting up at once, so Steve dismisses the idea of them lacking the space to keep helping.

“I’m just saying he needs someone to take care of him,” Steve points out calmly, unsure of how to convey how much.

Within minutes of meeting Tony, Steve realized that the boy is lost, drifting in this world he was thrown into with nothing but the order to _be great_. From the first moment, Steve had disliked Howard Stark, rattled by the way he spoke of and to his son. There is no love lost between them, and still Tony seems unable to cut their ties.

Bucky smirks, not entirely convinced. “That’s how we ended up with a Russian spy and a guy who speaks like he is Shakespeare reborn, not to forget his goth brother with the god complex.”

Steve refrains from saying that Natasha was actually Clint’s addition to the group, and that Loki barely ever comes around, preferring to live his life separately from Thor’s, even though he always mysteriously appears when it is Sam’s turn to cook.

Instead, Steve smiles lightly. “You never said no to a little bit of excitement before.”

Dealing with Tony Stark is more than that, of course, bordering on outright torture when he is in a mood, Steve can tell that already, after having finished only the first shift of his new job as Tony’s bodyguard.

Bucky scoffs, instinctively knowing that this is an understatement. “You say that as if things are ever boring with you around.”

That they are definitely not. “So I can bring him around?” Steve asks, knowing victory is his.

“Have I ever succeeded in changing your mind?” Bucky shoots back dryly.

Although that is a purely rhetorical question, Steve leans forward, not willing to bring a difficult billionaire into their life when his best friend is not on board with the idea. “Buck –”

“Yes, Steve,” Bucky cuts him off, rolling his eyes. “You can bring him here and try to fix him. That’s what you do and we love you for it.”

Steve’s shoulders slump in relief, already feeling better about this disaster of a first work day. He just cannot sit back and watch someone ruin himself like Tony is doing.

He does not yet have even the semblance of a plan of how to sell this to Tony, how to bring him here to their boring Brooklyn apartment and his group of damaged friends, while Tony is used to a life of beauty and extravagance. He is not sure how long he will even keep this job, considering how hell-bent Tony was yesterday to get rid of him again.

But he is going to do something about this situation. For now, that is enough.

 

* * *

 

It takes weeks to settle into his job, weeks to convince Tony that Steve will not turn around on their agreement and leave. During this time, Tony is in turns expectedly nasty, surprisingly clingy, casually aloof, or inappropriately lascivious. They spend some quiet hours together either in the workshop or in Tony’s apartment, they even talk at times, but mostly Steve has his hands full, trying to keep Tony from getting himself killed, robbed, or from tearing himself apart without remorse or even the slightest inclination to stop on his own.

They become, for lack of a better word, a team. At one point, Tony simply stops fighting Steve at every turn. He still does mostly only what he wants, following every sudden impulse, but he trusts Steve when he says _enough_. Neither does he go out of his way anymore to scandalize Steve, likely noticing that Steve is less easily shocked than Tony thought, or otherwise very good at keeping up a stoic face.

Three months down the line, Steve lets himself into Tony’s apartment a couple hours after they have said their goodbyes for the day. It is a rare sight that greets him. Tony is sprawled on his couch, tablet propped against his legs and bare feet dangling over the side. He is humming under his breath while he taps away, not as frantic as he usual is, afraid that he might not get things done before his mind shuts down, before his energy is drained and he loses his inspiration. It looks like Tony feels completely at home in his own skin for once.

Steve is almost sad to interrupt that scene, although his plan has much better chances of getting pulled off without a hitch like this, than if Tony were his usual hectic self.

“You should get ready now,” he says by way of greeting, swallowing his laughter when Tony whips up his head in surprise and loses his balance, almost falling off the couch. He will need to thank JARVIS later for letting him have this moment.

“Dammit, Rogers,” Tony curses, glaring up at Steve, although the effect is hindered by his undignified posture. “What are you doing here?”

Since they have long ago given up on proper decorum, Steve walks unconcerned into the room and slumps down into one of the armchairs, stretching out his legs in front of him.

“Picking you up,” he answers easily, inwardly grinning at the confusion on Tony’s face.

“Picking me up for what?” Tony asks dubiously, eyeing Steve with apprehension and making no move to get up from the couch. “There’s nothing scheduled for tonight, and Pepper called our dinner off.”

Which is true, if only through a sneaky bit of shuffling and collaboration with Pepper and JARVIS. Keeping Tony’s schedule cleared does not automatically mean, he will be available during that time. Tony does not like stillness and quiet, so if he had known he would have a free night ahead of him, he would have either stayed in the workshop or gone partying. Since Steve delivered him home, however, and had Pepper cancelling on him, it had been relatively safe to say that he would still be here for Steve to pick up.

“Of course you’ve forgotten,” Steve sighs, careful not to overdo it. He wants Tony feeling amenable to making it up to Steve without being pushed into a corner. “You promised me dinner weeks ago.”

Which is only technically a lie. Tony had not made any promises and Steve had never said anything concrete about dinner. He had, however, planted hints here or there, to which Tony usually answered with a joke or a dismissing _We’re eating together all the time_.

Tony’s mouth, already opened to protest, snaps shut as he narrows his eyes at Steve. “Dinner,” he echoes with an insulting amount of scepticism in his tone. He then shifts his position so he sits up properly on the couch. “I’m sure I’d remember if you had propositioned me.” He is still too dazzled by the turn of things to say this with a proper leer, but Steve gets it anyway.

“Because you’re taking all your flings out for dinner first.” Steve rolls his eyes. He likes to think that Tony would not simply take him up on an offer to go to bed together anymore, that they have reached the state of an almost-friendship by now.

Puffing out his chest, Tony says, “None of them ever said they didn’t have a good time.” He makes that sound like an achievement to be proud of. Then again, stories of his prowess in bed do tend to precede him, much to Steve’s chagrin.

“And if they had, you weren’t there to listen.” Steve is more than glad that he only has to protect Tony’s life and can leave it to the PR department to protect his reputation, what little there is left of it.

“I’m hearing criticism,” Tony harrumphs, but his lips twist up into an obvious display of amusement. “That’s not a good start to our night.”

In a clear attempt to get him moving, Steve waves at the hallway in direction of Tony’s bedroom. “But at least we’re starting it.”

It is not exactly a question, but Tony nonetheless shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, popping the _p_ , “sorry, Captain Handsome. I’m working on a time-sensitive project.”

Steve wonders what Tony is afraid of, what he thinks is planned for this night. If he were to wager a guess, Tony does not want to mess this up. They have grown comfortable around each other, so the safest bet would be to keep things just like they are. Every change to their routine might cause their whole relationship to topple. Although that sounds more like wishful thinking, now that Steve examines the thought more closely.

Far more likely is that Tony simply does not want to go anywhere with him, does not want to be seen gallivanting around with his bodyguard – who has already earned a harsh reputation amongst the masses throwing themselves at Tony.

“Tony.” Steve tries his favourite weapon and looks thoroughly disappointed. “You promised me.”

“And I can’t remember it,” Tony shoots right back, unwilling to let himself be emotionally ambushed. “So it doesn’t count.”

Luckily, Steve has something more substantial in his arsenal, so he adopts an air of innocence and remarks nonchalantly, “You also like to forget that it was the French dignitary’s wife you slept with last week, but Pepper will still murder you for it were she to find out.”

Slowly, Tony turns to fully look at Steve for the first time since he entered. “Are you blackmailing me?” he asks, sounding strangely fascinated, as if he has not thought Steve capable of taking such steps and, worse, as if he likes it.

“That depends,” Steve announces softly, “on whether you are going to come to dinner with me.”

Tony’s face brightens with delight, inappropriately amused by Steve’s backhanded dealings. “I’m a bad influence on you,” he gasps, sounding proud of that.

For a short moment, Steve wonders whether he should tell Tony what a miscreant he has been in his youth, and how he never really graduated from getting into trouble wherever he goes. He decides to keep that to himself however. If the evening goes as planned, Tony will learn soon enough that Steve is not as boringly proper as one might think.

“While I’m still trying to be a good one on you,” Steve says, making it sound like he has almost given up on that, even though his hopes are still high.

They stare at each other for a long minute, until Tony nods with something resembling resigned enthusiasm. “All right, consider me grudgingly convinced.” He gets up, turns towards the hall, likely to find himself some socks and shoes. “Although you shouldn’t expect me to stop complaining.”

Reeling with giddiness at how well he has managed the situation, Steve mutters to himself, “As if I ever would.”

From then on, Tony lets himself be easily herded downstairs an into Steve’s car, after Steve convinced him that he does not need to wear anything fancy, that he does not need to entertain anyone, does not need to take any money with him. Tony does not even complain that Steve drives them – then again, he usually seems to enjoy Steve’s driving style, which is ‘not as boring as the rest of him.’

They have not yet left the garage, when Tony asks for the first time, “Where are we going?”

After a short pause, Steve glances at Tony, keeps his grin strictly off his face, and announces cheerfully, “Home.”

Frowning, Tony points back over their shoulders. “That’s where we just left.” There is a short flicker of panic in his eyes, which Steve interprets as Tony thinking they might be going to the mansion, to where Howard waits to throw his vast bitterness at someone.

“ _My_ home,” he replies quickly, reassuring, catching Tony’s grimace out of the corner of his eye.

“Excuse me?” Tony quips, putting too much cheer into it, careful not to make it seem like he was affected by the mere thought of visiting his father. “I don’t put out before the third date.”

Since banter is one of the easiest ways to calm Tony down, Steve does not hesitate to join in. “You don’t date at all,” he reminds him dryly, expecting the mock-annoyed huff before it fills the air between them.

“Right,” Tony drawls, nodding shortly before turning back to the topic at hand. “Which is why I’m wondering what we’re doing here.”

Steve sighs, a sound he has had much practice with over the past months. “You have apparently forgotten all about our conversation about how you should spend more time with non-toxic people other than Rhodey and Pepper.” Which they completely agree with Steve on. Otherwise, Steve might have never gotten Pepper’s assistance in tricking Tony into having a free evening. “So I’ll leave you in suspense.”

Never happy to be left out of the loop, Tony pointedly turns towards the window, watching the city fly past. “I just want it to be known that I consider this a kidnapping.”

“Woe is me,” Steve laments, laughing quietly. How much his assessment of Tony has changed. He is still too snarky, too self-destructive, but beneath all that, there is a good guy. “If that is the case, though, it means I can gag you and enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Looking up with mischief in his eyes, Tony grins. “You wouldn’t dare.” Cocking his head to the side, he watches Steve closely. “Also, I didn’t think you’d be the kinky type.”

Holding up a pleading hand between them, Steve tries to stop Tony’s analysis. “I really don’t want to know what you are thinking of me.” Nothing good, certainly, or rather nothing he will ever be able to unhear.

“Afraid to broaden your horizon?” Tony asks cheekily, then flicks his hand dismissively. “That, on the other hand, fits you very well.”

Steve keeps Tony thoroughly occupied with their bickering for the rest of the drive, so much so that Tony never even comments on Steve bringing him to Brooklyn of all places, and when they stop, he looks surprised at how quickly the time has passed. It might not be a healthy reaction but Steve is glad that he managed to catch and keep the attention of Tony Stark for so long.

When they get out of the car, Tony mutters something about them parking on the street like savages, then looks at their apartment building as if he expects it to collapse any moment now but follows Steve willingly.

Steve turns the key in the lock and they are greeted by a brightly lit apartment, already occupied by a loud and laughing group.

“What’s this?” Tony hisses in Steve’s back. “I thought we were having dinner together?”

Instead of replying, Steve simply makes sure that Tony does not turn around to flee, and pushes him ahead of him towards the living room.

Not the whole crew is there to greet them, Steve would not have been that diabolical. An overwhelmed Tony is one who snaps at everything and everyone. Since the plan is to make him relax and show him that he can have fun even when he is not working or paying people with either money or sex to laugh with him.

Thor occupies one of their armchairs, munching on a pop tart. Bucky and Natasha share the couch, while Clint sits on the ground, leaning against Natasha’s legs. All of them look up when they enter, expression never changing as if they expect Steve and Tony to join right in with their laughter.

“And here they are,” Bucky announces good-naturedly but still with some bite. “Captain America and another one of his lost lambs.”

Tony needs another minute to take them in, before he whirls around to face Steve, expression closed off but not quite enough to hide that Tony feels rather overwhelmed, likely thinking that they are playing a prank on him, waiting for someone to jump up and shout ‘Look at that, the idiot actually fell for it and thought Steve would really invite him out for dinner.’

“What are they doing here, Steve?” Tony asks in a pressed tone. “What am _I_ doing here?”

Bucky gets up and strolls over towards them. “I bet he expected you to want to have sex with him, right?” Rolling his eyes, he pulls Steve in for a kiss, making it longer than actually appropriate, ignoring the catcalls in his back. “Sorry, Stark, this one’s mine.”

Tony, meanwhile, can only stare, likely remembering same as Steve their first day together when Tony dragged Steve into a gay club to shock him. How badly that plan misfired, considering that he _is_ gay.

Deciding to take pity on Tony, Steve pushes Bucky off him and turns with a smile towards his guest. “Welcome to my home, Tony. This is my family,” he says, pointing at the rest of them, waving like mad. “We thought you might appreciate having a place where you can be yourself every once in a while.”

 

* * *

 

The morning after, Tony sits at his kitchen table, for once awake and dressed and ready to go, waiting for Steve to show up. Which, in itself, is cause for alarm. If someone had told Steve that, barely a couple months into this job, he would have become used to chasing his employer’s son out of bed, he would have had them admitted. That is not a bodyguard’s work but a babysitter’s. Then again, he had been warned that taking on this job would mean being both.

Steve’s first thought upon finding Tony waiting for him, is that he never went to bed at all, which would not be out of the ordinary either. He looks tired enough but strangely collected. When Steve offers a greeting, he does not get a response, likely because Tony is too busy staring at him. He wears a curious expression, not quite blank but looking at Steve as if he is a particularly difficult puzzle to solve.

“Are you ready to go?” Steve asks, wondering what might have caused this sudden quiet.

Maybe the evening before was too much and too soon, after all. Throwing Tony Stark, billionaire and troublemaker, in with his crazy friends only ever had a fifty-fifty chance of going well – probably less than that. Tony had seemed to enjoy himself, though. There was greasy food and at least some alcohol. He butchered Thor in Mario Cart and exchanged barbs with Clint. He even managed to charm Natasha – which was admittedly easy once he revealed himself to speak some Russian – and did not ask Bucky any stupid question over how he might have lost his arm.

Steve would count the night as a success. All he wanted, really, was for Tony to enjoy himself without having to keep up the act of being the heir of Howard Stark, genius, playboy, billionaire. They laughed and talked and had a food fight. No one behaved like Tony did not belong there.

Steve knows he will not get out of this without massive amounts of teasing – they always joke about his propensity to try and save every broken thing he comes across – but he is still rather satisfied with how things turned out.

Only Tony looks at him now like he did right in the beginning of their acquaintance. Not cocky and challenging as on their first day, but confused as on the second, questioning what Steve is still doing here, why he has not yet run off.

Careful to keep his face cheerful, Steve walks up to the kitchen counter, pours himself a mug of coffee and refills Tony’s, waiting for the genius to speak his mind.

“Why would you take me to dinner with your family?” Tony asks not a minute later, a hint of accusation accompanying the words.

Steve almost sighs. It should not surprise him that Tony would not trust a good thing offered to him, not without a price.

“I thought you needed the distraction,” he answers lightly, like there is nothing more to it. And there is not, really. This is just Steve trying to be a friend to someone who likes to think the whole world will fight him if he gives it the chance.

“That’s not a reason,” Tony counters immediately, eyes filled with suspicion now. Rather sullenly, he points out, “I’m your employer.”

Two can play that game of using threadbare arguments, so Steve merely smiles pleasantly and says, “Technically, your father is my employer.” Taking a sip of coffee, he shrugs. “And there are no rules against having dinner with someone you’re in a working relationship with.”

If things were that simple, they would not be having this conversation. Tony is not stupid, not in emotional things either, although he likes to prove each day anew that he is a disaster waiting to happen whenever he is pushed to take part in true human interaction.

“But –” Tony begins, looking for all the world like he has a myriad of arguments prepared. Then he inclines his head and says simply, “It’s not proper.”

It is all Steve can do not to laugh. “Why?” he asks, honestly interested what inane reason Tony has found for not being allowed to enjoy an evening with people who do not want to take advantage of him for one night. “We didn’t proposition you, we didn’t talk about Stark Industries, we made no business of any kind.”

“But why would you _want_ to?” Tony demands, staring at him with a frustrating amount of stubbornness, thinking he already knows the answer but needing to hear it spoken out loud.

Steve always knew that Tony has the potential to break his heart, simply by being who he is, by parroting what he thinks true about himself – like the ridiculous idea that no one would be able to simply enjoy his company.

“Tony.” Not caring whether that is against protocol too, Steve slides into a seat across from Tony. Nothing about them has been traditional, or _proper_ as Tony called it just now, although Steve is hard-pressed to believe that he even knows what that means. No Stark is actually known for their propriety. “You’re a good person, even if you happen to not believe me. I thought you could benefit from meeting some people who aren’t interested in talking to you just because you have money or a brain to pick or are an easy lay.”

Before Steve can prepare himself for the counter attack, Tony smiles hollowly, like he has already won the argument. “So you invited me out of pity,” he remarks bitterly, nodding like he has never expected anything else.

Steve wishes he could show his frustration, but Tony would somehow interpret that as him being right, as him not being worth the effort.

“Definitely not,” Steve emphasizes firmly. If Tony takes nothing else away from this, Steve hopes he will at least believe that last night was genuine. “For someone so smart you can be rather dense.”

Here, he hesitates for a moment, wondering how best to go on. The truth, he thinks. Tony will look through anything else easily.

“I like you,” Steve says, raising a hand to cut off Tony’s protest. “You’re a brat, and you constantly think you need to prove something. You drive me up the wall with your inability to take care of yourself. You are rude and loud and should maybe think about stopping your teenage rebellion at some point.” Steve makes a pause, takes in Tony’s darkened expression and cannot help but smile. “But you’re a _good person_. And I think you have too little opportunity to show that because the world has come to expect certain things from you and you are too happy to deliver.”

Steve could go on, could give examples, could bury Tony under evidence, and yet Tony would find a way to misinterpret everything. So Steve leaves it at that for now, trying to gauge Tony’s reaction before he continues on his quest to save Tony from himself.

“So that’s what you make of me?” Tony asks, incredulous. He clutches his mug with both hands, which might be the only thing still keeping him here, for both his legs are trembling with the need to get up and run. “I want to be good but the big bad world doesn’t let me?”

Technically, Steve could say yes, if they exchange the _world_ for Howard and _good_ for Tony himself. “No,” Steve says nonetheless. There are smaller steps needed here. “I think you care far more than you let on. You just need someone who cares for you too.”

Unsurprisingly, Tony begins arguing immediately. “Plenty of people –”

“For _you_ ,” Steve interrupts him to clarify, “not what you can give them.”

The people Tony means are for the most part disgusting parasites, fighting to get a piece of _the_ Tony Stark, which he offers freely to anyone willing to take. The hordes of simpering girls Steve has to wade through at any given party to get to Tony still cause shivers to run down his spine. Bootlickers and opportunists, a couple corporate spies, reporters. Maybe there are some genuine ones among them, but Tony excels at the art of driving people away.

“All right,” Tony says quietly, ripping Steve out of his musings. “I want in.”

Thinking he might have misheard, Steve snaps his head up, bearing into Tony. “What?”

Surely it cannot be that easy. He has prepared himself to coax Tony into some chance meetings with his friends or accidental lunch dates. He had not thought he would simply give in. Perhaps Tony is more desperate than he lets on.

“I want to become a member of that little pity club of yours,” Tony explains, just a hint of petulance in his tone. “Weekly dinner, is that too much? We’ll see how long you’ll manage before you grow tired of me too, or before the first ‘problems’ come up that you need my help for.”

Or, Steve realizes, Tony wants to prove him wrong. But he is not one to protest this golden opportunity, because they do mean well and not even Tony Stark can remain ignorant forever.

Steve wonders whether he should once again promise Tony that this is not what they want, that his company is something people can genuinely enjoy. Showing is so much better than telling, though, so he nods.

“Friday nights,” he offers, expecting Tony’s grimace before it appears.

“I’m usually busy on Friday nights,” Tony says, inspecting his fingernails as if to say he does not care whether the opportunity is off the table if he does not accept immediately.

Steve shows himself unimpressed, however. “With parties you don’t enjoy,” he points out dryly. “Family dinner is on Fridays. If you want in, you’ll have to cope with not poisoning your liver for the time being.”

Truth be told, family dinners used to be on Thursdays, but Steve can be very convincing if he needs to be. And getting Tony out of the toxic environment he loves to throw himself into is one of the points of this whole thing.

“You’re on,” Tony drawls, failing to sound bored with the prospect. “If only so I can say I told you so later.”

Relieved, Steve smiles, not bothering to hide it. “You won’t need to.”

“All right, enough of this emotional crap.” Drowning the last of his coffee, Tony gets to his feet. “I’ve got a meeting in five.”

Steve does not say anything to that, does not say that Tony usually never bothers with meetings, and does not say anything when Tony leads them right to his workshop, where he disappears into for the rest of the day, ignoring several angry phone calls from Pepper and other people intent on reminding him of that meeting.

This has turned out easier than Steve thought. The biggest obstacle now will be to convince Tony that this is good for him, but he thinks their chances are good. Tony is not yet so far gone that he does not want to be saved, and Steve’s friends have a lot of experience in saving each other.

In the end, it will be him saying _I told you so._ He is looking forward to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> This exists because I thought of Tony introducing Steve as his bodyguard to Rhodey, who is Not Amused, thinking this is meant as an euphemism and he needs to protect his friend from another overeager gold digger. Secondly, I wanted Steve to drag Tony home to a long-suffering Bucky as the newest hopeless case he picked up.  
> Somehow, this has turned into a 9k monster, even while I wrote neither one of those scenes. Bear with me, I guess I just needed an excuse to write hopeless Tony.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please tell me what you think and if you might be interested in reading more.


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